‘Ever since she got back from hospital?’ Phoebe finishes gently for her.
Arabella nods silently, her eyes glistening.
‘She’s very lucky to have you looking out for her,’ Phoebesays, placing a hand lightly on Arabella’s arm. She flinches at the touch but doesn’t move. ‘But I’m here to help you now. This all must have been really tough on you.’
All of Arabella’s poise and frostiness melts away as she breaks down into tears. Phoebe keeps her hand on her arm, waiting patiently as the emotion spills out. She senses that Arabella doesn’t need words right now, just someone to be with her and let her not be OK.
Eventually, Arabella sniffs loudly, wiping her nose with her pristine white sleeve. Phoebe pulls a pack of tissues out of her bag and hands one to Arabella.
‘Thanks,’ she says with a sniff. ‘I know she’s been feeling low ever since Daddy died. It’s been hard on all of us. But I just never thought she’d do something like this …’ She wraps her arms around herself, her slender frame sinking in on itself.
‘It must have been a real shock,’ Phoebe says softly. ‘But the fact that she has been discharged from hospital is a good thing. It means the doctors there think she isn’t feeling like hurting herself anymore.’
Because Phoebe knows that’s what Arabella will be thinking. If her mother could attempt something like this once, what’s to say she won’t do it again? The unfortunate answer is that there are never any guarantees. But Phoebe will do her best to make sure that doesn’t happen.
‘Why don’t you show me through to your mum and then go and have a lie-down? You must be exhausted.’
Arabella nods meekly. ‘I haven’t really been sleeping. She’s upstairs. I’ve been trying to persuade her to get out into the garden, she and Daddy always used to love spending timethere. That’s why I called a gardener. I thought if I could spruce things up a bit, maybe I could tempt Mum outside.’
Phoebe follows Arabella up the curving staircase and along the corridor to a large bedroom that faces the garden. Camilla Ramsgate looks tiny beneath the covers of a grand four-poster bed, a patchwork quilt laid across her lap as she leans back against a pile of cushions. The curtains are open, which Phoebe suspects must have been Arabella’s doing, but instead of looking out at the trees in the garden, Mrs Ramsgate stares down at her hands, her hair falling slightly in front of her face. There is a threadbare chaise longue beneath the window and Phoebe spots a crumpled sleeping bag there alongside a book.
Arabella catches her looking and says very quietly, ‘I haven’t wanted to leave her.’ Then, more loudly and with a forced jollity to her voice, she says, ‘Mummy, Nurse Harrison is here to see you.’
The woman in the bed glances up, her expression vacant.
‘Oh,’ is all she says. Then she goes back to looking at her hands.
Arabella shoots a look at Phoebe, biting the corner of her thumb.
‘It’s OK,’ Phoebe says quietly to her. ‘We’ll get to know one another and I’ll call you if we need anything, OK?’
Arabella pauses for a moment, watching her mother. Then she nods slightly and slinks off down the corridor, leaving Phoebe and her patient alone.
Despite the size of the room, the atmosphere is oppressive. Phoebe wonders when Mrs Ramsgate last went outside.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Ramsgate. Is it all right if I callyou Camilla? You can call me Phoebe.’ Phoebe takes a small velvet chair from its spot opposite an antique dressing table and drags it over to the bedside.
‘Yes, that’s fine.’ Camilla lets out a sigh as if even saying those few words has taken it out of her.
Phoebe settles herself in the chair, not rushing to say anything else just yet. She has learnt the value of silence over the years.
Camilla glances through the doorway, as if only just noticing that Arabella has left, or was there in the first place.
‘I hate how much she worries about me. I know she wants to see me up and about, but I just feel so tired.’
‘That might well be a side effect of your medication. And fatigue is a big part of depression.’
‘Depression …’ Camilla says, as if reading a word in a foreign language aloud for the first time. ‘You know my generation doesn’t really believe in things like that.’
‘It’s certainly an attitude I’ve encountered before,’ Phoebe admits.
Camilla twists her pearl earrings between her fingers, the flash of several rings glinting on her hands. As her sleeve slips, Phoebe catches sight of the scars on her left wrist. They have healed nicely, but she knows from past patients that the marks will never disappear completely. They’ll always be a part of her.
‘I was taught to keep my emotions to myself,’ Camilla continues, adjusting the quilt on her lap. ‘Strong upper lip and whatnot.’
‘Except that doesn’t always work, does it?’
‘No. Quite.’
